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Chapter 1

The directions had been difficult to follow, but Pendergast knew he was at the right place. It was in the atmosphere; the lull of the crickets in the tall grasses, the sheen of the afternoon sun warming the still river, the Spanish moss hanging in the trees—even the smell of the woods and the river and something else, a heady vapor on the breeze unlike anything he’d ever smelled before. Something about it made his muscles tighten with trepidation.

He crossed the plank bridge over a tributary to the unpainted, tin-roofed shack, hyperaware of the silence after all the racket that it had taken him so long to grow accustomed to in New York City, where he’d lived for several years. With his steps on the plank bridge, even the crickets had quieted. The sky, reflected in the tea-colored river water, was a bright, beautiful blue. A few cottony clouds overhead, as stationary as if they were stuck to the blue with Elmer’s Glue. Nothing moved but him.

He steeled himself and raised a fist, knocking softly on the door. It was opened immediately by an ancient woman of indeterminate age and race. She looked at him as seriously and sternly as anyone ever had. “She is waiting for you. You remember the rules.”

“Yes.”

“Recite them.”

“No food, liquids, or smoking. No conversation. Do everything she says without question, and only what she says, nothing more. Do not touch her unless she asks. Once I’m in, I stay in until she is finished, no matter what happens.”

The old woman’s eyes measured him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have to.” He was appalled, but not really surprised, to feel sudden tears well in his eyes.

She nodded and stepped back. Pendergast took a last look around the secluded cabin at the beautiful, sunny day, and stepped through the door into another time.

***


The cabin was clean and unadorned. A wooden table and three chairs were placed on one side of the room near a woodstove, not needed on this warm, spring day. A dilapidated sofa took up most of the space on the other side. There was no television, no video equipment, no stereo, no personal computer, no electronics of any kind, not even a toaster or electric clock. And probably, way out here, no electricity with which to run them.

The windows were open on both sides of the room, admitting wisps of moving air that could not accurately be referred to as a breeze. It felt more like tiny playful ghosts dancing and flickering around his exposed face and hands. He was growing warm in the black wool suit, and he liked being warm. It had always comforted him. He associated the cold with certain unwanted memories of subbasements, crypts, and the hearts of family members.

The old woman said, “When you feel thirsty, tell her. It is important. You will probably lose...a lot of fluids.”

He nodded.

Her expression softened somewhat. “Do not be frightened by anything you see, hear, or feel. There is no harm here. Only love, and...release.”

She motioned him toward one of the closed doors at the rear of the room. He bowed slightly, went to the door, and turned. “What is her name?”

“She has no name that I’m aware of. I call her Gem.”

He opened the door, walking through quickly, before he had time to feel anything.

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